


Murder or a Heart Attack

by never_shuts_up



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Fix-It, Kayfabe Compatible, M/M, Other, PTSD-Like Episode, Pie With Too Much Plot, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Roman Isn't There But Is Important, ambreigns - Freeform, mostly feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 12:32:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12012795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/never_shuts_up/pseuds/never_shuts_up
Summary: After a tag team victory at Summerslam, Dean still isn't sure how he's supposed to feel, and Seth still has a knack for making everything more complicated - but not necessarily in a bad way.





	Murder or a Heart Attack

**Author's Note:**

> Set immediately after Summerslam 2017.
> 
> Content note: includes an adverse reaction based on past trauma. I hesitate to classify it 100% as PTSD, but could be interpreted that way.

As soon as he stepped through the curtain, everything faded to a blur. Spots from the bright light still stung his eyes as cameras - probably mostly phones, but whatever the hell - began flashing around him to replace them. Immediately they were pushed through to the media area, and the cameras just kept going. Dean kept wanting to pinch himself, and see if he would wake up. The title over his shoulder, and a mere arm’s-length away, with the same title over his, the one man who had caused him no end of hurt for so many years. Seth was smiling, laughing, joking easily with commentators and on-lookers alike, and the expression on his face was one Dean hadn't seen in - well, he didn't even know how long anymore.

He hadn't realized how much he’d missed that smile. Not a plotting-smirk, not a rehearsed camera-grin, but a real, genuine smile, that lit up and transformed Seth’s entire face. It felt like he was looking at somebody else, someone he thought was long gone.

_Was this really him? Who, even, was the real Seth Rollins anymore?_

As the crowd began to disperse, Dean felt a hand on his shoulder. Seth leaned in, so close that a wet strand of hair brushed against Dean’s cheek. “C’mon, let's get cleaned up.” Dean nodded a response back, and they turned and headed toward the locker room.

As he fumbled around in his locker, Dean still couldn't shake the feeling of having wandered into someone else’s dream. They had done it - actually done it - and while he knew they could, believed they could, he hadn't predicted it would feel like this. So strange, yet familiar; so good, yet uneasy. Memories of the past three years rattled around in his head, and this new experience refused to fit in with them, like a piece had suddenly been tossed in from the wrong puzzle.

Seth emerged from a cloud of steam, smelling like expensive conditioner, shimmied his way into those damn impractical tight jeans, and began rummaging through his own things for a shirt. Dean busied himself with cleaning the protein bar wrappers out of his pockets and the bottom of his bag - with the past week of media and travel, it was long overdue.

Seth was the one to break the relative silence.

“Did you make any plans for tonight?”

“Nah, not really. Was going to just grab something to eat and collapse. You know, the usual.” Dean shoved the rest of his clothes back into the duffel bag and headed to the garbage can with a couple handfuls of various wrappers - including, for some reason, an inordinate amount of straw papers and a very mangled Popeye’s cup. “Why, did you?”

“Not really. But, uh, if you’re just going back to the hotel, maybe I should give you this now.” When Seth turned back around, he had a brown paper bag in his hand. “I had to go up to Greenpoint to get it, but I've heard it's the best in town.”

Dean opened the paper bag, slightly mystified to find a white bakery box, tied artfully with black and white twine. As he raised the lid, the faint aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg greeted him, and he nearly did a double take at what was inside.

It was a perfect apple pie.

If you put a picture next to “apple pie” in a dictionary - no, that wouldn't be in a dictionary but maybe just a cookbook or a guide to things you could buy that are close enough to buying happiness - this would have been that picture. The crust was an even golden brown, punctuated with decoratively placed slashes that showed a hint of filling flecked with spices.

Dean looked at the pie for a long moment, then back up at Seth, catching him in half a second of fidgeting before he realized his tag partner was watching. An amused half-smile crept onto Dean’s face. “So, you heard that whole thing about the pie, huh?”

Seth grinned, apparently relieved at Dean’s reaction. “Obviously. You really still think Roman ate it?”

“Dunno. It's been fun giving him hell about it though. Gets a rise out of him, and he keeps saying Ron did it.” The friendly teasing between Roman and Truth amused Dean to no end and was, to be honest, one of the highlights of having him travel with them. Once one of them found something to dig the other about, it would keep them going for days. Dean tried not to think about how, despite treasuring his rare time alone with Roman, everything seemed so much more natural and enjoyable with a third person in the car. “I kinda don't care anymore, but having something to tease him about kept him from worrying so much about tonight.”

Seth went back to rummaging in his bag. “So you two are still…”

“Yeah.”

“I figured. Wondered if anyone would catch your little slip-up back there.” Dean felt heat rush to his face as Seth gave him an exaggerated wink-nudge, and he fought off the urge to shove the pie directly into Seth’s face. Sometimes even Seth’s friendly teasing skirted awfully close to the line, and Dean wasn't sure what to expect from him anymore. The weight of the pie in his hands - a visible, tangible, spice-and-sugar-scented sign of what, exactly? - had just made everything more complicated.

Dean set the bag aside, next to his duffel, and shrugged. “Ehh, I've got a reputation for sayin’ weird shit to uphold. Wouldn't want to let the people down.”

“I don't think you'll have to worry about that. Or the other thing. After tonight, they'll have plenty to talk about.” Seth’s cavalier attitude toward the relationship that Dean was so clearly trying to keep secret still annoyed Dean a bit, but he was a little occupied wondering what his tag partner was getting at. “Also, I figured we would either want to toast victory or drown defeat, so I brought this too.” He handed Dean another paper bag, this one smaller and heavier. Dean was pretty sure he could tell what was in it, but was still surprised to open the bag and find a compact, rather expensive-looking bottle of some whiskey he’d never heard of, with a heavy wax seal on top.

 “Special occasion, huh? You went all out.” Dean regarded the bottle with approval. The name was unfamiliar - some kind of artisan small batch bullshit, most likely, but knowing Seth, at least it was probably good. “So, should we just open these here, or -”

“Actually, I had an idea about that. I figured you’d want to wait around for Roman, but if you text me when you get back to the hotel, I think I know just the place.”

\-----

Dean climbed the last few steps and let the door swing closed behind him. “I thought the roof deck was supposed to be-” 

“Closed after ten? Yeah, I know. Pulled a couple strings at the front desk, and they gave me the card to swipe in.”

 _Clever_. Turning on the charm to get what he wanted was just such a typical Seth move, and Dean had to admit the roof deck was pretty impressive. The three-foot wall surrounding the perimeter was made of fake-rustic-looking wood and topped with raised flowerbeds. Motion-sensing lights flickered to life as they stepped out onto the walkway. There were a few tables with umbrellas, now folded up for the night, arranged around the middle, and a bunch of chaises and Adirondack chairs off to one side, mostly stacked up out of the way but with a few pointing to the main attraction: the view. Dean let out a low whistle as he took in the Manhattan skyline rising up right front of them - how had it seemed so far when it was right across a river? - all lit up and glittering like a drag queen’s jewelry box.

 “Hot damn. This place really is something else.” Dean could feel Seth’s eyes on him, searching his face for signs of approval. And he had to give him credit - it felt like the right place to go for some quiet in a city full of noise, for some fresh air on a hot summer night.

 “Worth all the hype, right?”

“Couldn't say. Since we don't get to see any of it or nothing.”

 “Everything looks great from here though.” Seth dragged one of the metal chaises to a space with a clear view, sat, and motioned to the middle, where Dean put the box and bottle down. “And I have to hand it to them, Brooklyn knows a thing or two about food. That pie shop had about nine other things that all looked amazing. Different stuff like salted honey, but I didn't think that would be your thing. Good coffee, too. I should have just brought you there, but I wanted it to be a surprise.” Seth was rambling now, as he rummaged through the bag and pulled out two plastic forks. Dean could tell it was nerves, and even though he wasn't sure why, it still warmed him someplace inside to hear it. “How’s Roman holding up?”

Dean shrugged, and sat down on the other end of the chaise, taking out and opening the bottle. “Not great. He's down at the room taking a long shower. You know, the usual.”

“Think he'd want to come up?”

“Don't know, I didn't ask. Figured he’d understand me being gone for a few minutes.” This level of interest was uncharacteristic. Seth was still giving Roman a wide berth, rarely asking about him, and usually finding reasons to leave a room whenever he showed up. Skirting the boundary between respectful distance and all-out avoidance, ever since Extreme Rules. Dean couldn't really put a finger on what had changed, but it seemed they had both just moved on. No longer contending for the same title, they weren't even in the same orbit anymore. Dean wasn't sure if that was worse or better - but it was easier. Even if easier didn't always mean better.

“So it's not weird for him, you and me doing…what we’re doing?” Seth had seemingly forgotten the two plastic forks in his hand, and was studying Dean’s face intently, with an expression that walked the razor-thin line between apprehension and hope.

“Wasn't wild about it. He tried to tell me what a bad idea it was, that first time. Made me promise I was gonna take care of myself, not take some stupid risk for you. Dunno what he was thinking, he knows I don't follow instructions. When you first apologized, he said it was bullshit and I shouldn't fall for it.”

Watching Seth’s face fall, Dean realized too late that he probably shouldn't have said that. Except no, he definitely should have said that and more because Seth deserved to know the truth, even if it hurt. Especially if it hurt.

He watched Seth let out a ragged sigh, and take a hand through his hair like he always did to try and compose himself. “Not surprised. He’s looking out for you, and I can't really blame him for not trusting me.”

Dean nodded. Seth was taking this better than he had expected, but he still looked tense, as if holding onto something much more uncomfortable than a couple of forks. Something about the set of his shoulders and jaw seemed imminent, as if he could jump off the edge of the roof deck. Instead, he turned to face Dean straight-on, gripping the seat of the chaise as if to steady himself, and looked him directly in the eye.

 “That's what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Having the full force of Seth’s gaze directly on him made something in the pit of Dean’s stomach twist. His partner’s face was all intensity, always, but he saw something unfamiliar written in the crease of his forehead and the corners of his mouth. In the half-light of the streetlights and garden lighting, Dean couldn't quite read what this new something was. Twisting at the lid of the bottle in his hand, he could do nothing but let Seth continue.

“Being here with you over the past week - I realized, I've been going about this all wrong. I know I apologized - sort of - but it wasn't right.” Seth paused long enough to inhale deeply, eyes closed, as if about to dive into unfamiliar waters. ”I'm sorry I pushed you around. It was mean, and shitty, and uncalled for. And you deserve better than that, so I hope I can make it up to you.”

The knot in Dean’s stomach began to unclench, and unravel, but it didn't exactly feel good. Surprisingly, these soft words, these unfamiliar words coming from Seth just replaced it with a hot wave of resentment. Dean bit back a whole string of words that ran through his mind on a loop - _are you fucking kidding me - what new bullshit - what the fuck is this fucking game_ \- and took a deep breath to try and compose himself, but could feel his entire body tense, ready to attack. He clutched at the knees of his jeans so hard that his knuckles must have been nearly white, and tried - unsuccessfully - to keep the edge out of his voice.

“So you're really sorry, and you really mean it?” Seth nodded. “So, why now? Why do you pick now to apologize and not, I don't know, a month ago when you were playing your bullshit games?” Once the words started pouring out, Dean realized he couldn't stop. “Where was this fucking sorry face of yours when you were turning the whole crowd against me? Were you just stringing me along until you had that title? What the fuck took you so long to figure that out?”

Seth flinched at every word, and the deepening look of hurt in his eyes both gave Dean pause, and made him feel strangely satisfied, vindicated. But he stopped to allow Seth to respond.

“I know it hurt. I know it made you angry. But I couldn’t take the risk that you would say ‘no.’ I had something all prepared, but as soon as I got out there, the second I looked at you, it hit me that I didn't have any idea what I would do if you turned me down. So I pushed it, and I know I pushed too hard. And it wasn't until I looked back at the video package that I realized just how shitty it was. I sounded like such an asshole, and you looked so hurt. And I can't say I didn't mean it, because at the time, I did. I just didn't mean for it to come out like that, and I’m sorry it hurt you.”

Dean let the tide of words wash over him, and it started to sink in that this was real: Seth would never have put so much of this out in the open if he didn't really mean it, and looking him directly in the eye, Dean realized he could identify a few of the unknowns that flickered across Seth’s face: guilt, which was no less than he deserved, but also regret and a tinge of fear. That was bullshit - _what did someone like Seth have to be afraid of?_ \- but nonetheless, there it was. But Dean’s own reservations refused to slip away so easily - after all, that face had lured him with false promises before. _No. My terms. I'm not letting you push me around. Roman was right that you would try. And I'm not gonna let you get away with it that easily._  “You still made me look like the bad guy, and you didn't exactly make me want to trust you again.”

“You're right. I did. And I shouldn't have. You did exactly what you said you were going to do. I should know you better than that - me, of all people. And it's one of the things I like about you. I mean, I know the way your head works isn't always straightforward, but the way you put it out there is. Figured you were trying to make a point. And I give you a lot of credit for that, you know? Being honest.”

“That's pretty new to you, right?” Dean tried to play the compliment off with a joke, but realized it had hit much closer to the mark when the smile Seth cracked looked more embarrassed than amused, and his gaze shifted to somewhere on the ground.

“Yeah. I guess I forgot what that was like. You know? You spend enough time around liars, you just start to assume everyone's lying. You start to assume everyone's out to push you around. And you start finding ways to defend yourself before they attack. And I gotta stop doing that now. Especially with you. If there's one person in the world I can stop doing that with, it’s you. This whole week proved it. What we did tonight proved it. I didn’t realize what I was missing, and I'm going to do whatever I can to keep it.” He turned himself fully to face Dean, folding one leg under him on the chaise, and stuck out a hand. “Can you let me?”

Seth’s open, expectant face turned Dean’s stomach into knots all over again. _How was this supposed to feel?_ Anger and hurt and longing tumbled together until none of them were even recognizable anymore. And before Dean knew what he was doing, he had closed the few feet of distance between them, and taken Seth’s hand.

“I'm gonna try,” he found himself saying. “I want this as much as you do, but you dealt me a whole lot of hurt. And don't even think I don't feel it all over again whenever I see your stupid face. But you're still my brother.” Dean paused and tried to gather himself. Roman had told him, time and time again, that he needed to keep firm boundaries with Seth, and it was Roman’s mix of concern and rage that swam to the front of his mind now. “And I know we’re better together, but if you pull that shit with me again, I can't make any promises.” The words _“and I don’t think Roman can either”_ sat right on the tip of his tongue, but he held them back. Involving him wasn’t fair, and it probably wouldn’t do any good.

Seth put his other hand over Dean’s and gripped it firmly, for a very long moment. “Okay. That's fair - it’s no more than I deserve, but yeah, fair. Because I'll have to do better if this is going to work. And I get that it's been hard for you. So, thank you. For letting me back in.”

“Back in?” The turn of phrase sent a twinge through Dean’s chest as its meaning sank in. “Little brother, half the reason this is so fucking hard is that - for all these years - you were still there. You got in my head, got in my heart, and even when you fucked around with it, and even when I wanted to break your dumb coward face, I still couldn't shake that. When you get down to it, you were never really gone.”

Dean’s words were cut off as Seth leaned in and wrapped him in a tight hug. He felt rather than heard the response, murmured half-into his ear, half-into his shoulder, and vibrating through his entire chest: “Neither were you.”

Despite the warmth of Seth’s touch, Dean felt his shoulders tense and shudder, and suddenly it was very hard to breathe. His vision blurred the lights of the skyline together, into a rough haze. Every nerve seemed to be fighting the urge to flinch, to push away, and even his fingertips itched to take control. The places where those maddeningly familiar hands pressed tightly against his back were the same ones that had been black and blue for days, crossed by marks from that steel chair and then by everything from boots to the edge of the apron - _does he really think this could ever undo all that hurt, and what the hell have I just left myself open to?_

Seth released his grip and pulled away, moving his hands to Dean’s shoulders. Forehead creased and eyes soft in the half-light, he seemed to shrink a little, as he studied his friend’s face and the realization of what he was seeing there hit home. Dean wasn't sure exactly how he must have looked in that moment, but judging by Seth’s expression, it must have been as messed up as he felt.

“Shit,” Seth muttered, in a tone that was half sharp frustration, half sigh. “I did that, didn't I?”

Dean nodded.

“I’m sorry. I know it's going to take a lot for you to believe me, after how much I hurt you. And I've gotta let you make your own decisions.” Guilt - real, true, sincere guilt - etched itself across Seth’s face in deep lines, and he seemed to be torn between looking Dean directly in the eye and staring at the ground. “Just… if it's too much, please tell me, okay?”

Dean nodded again. The city lights shifted out of the haze and back into clarity as he placed his own hand on Seth’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Okay.” And for the time it took for both men to breathe in deeply and let it out, nothing else mattered.

As everything settled slowly back to _here_ , back to _now_ , Dean dimly realized his phone hadn’t buzzed since he’d come up to the roof. A few floors below, Roman was probably asleep, and the space next to him was made up just for Dean, with the pillow exactly where he liked it, and it sure wouldn’t have been there all those years ago. Roman’s arm was probably flung instinctively over that space, protectively, waiting for Dean to come back and crawl under it, waiting to hold him until he fell asleep. It was different, but better, and he never wanted to go back to a world where that space didn't exist.

This was never going to be the same either. But maybe it could be better too. The kind of better that came from being older, smarter, and knowing what kind of bad could come with the good - knowing all of each other’s ugly parts and scars and sharp edges.

Maybe things didn't need to be the same to be right. Or at least, start fumbling their way toward right.

Seth shifted his position first, composing himself and slipping an arm around Dean’s shoulders as he took in the lights of the skyline that seemed to rise so close to them. “So - and I'm not trying to change the subject -”  he paused dramatically with a bit of a self-satisfied smile, “that's a really good whiskey that you haven't even opened yet.”

Dean smiled back, tentatively, but with warmth spreading back through his chest. “Right. And a pie that I'm gonna need one of those forks for.” Seth looked at him quizzically, apparently having forgotten the forks entirely. “The ones behind you, doofus.”

“Oh. Right.” Seth laughed nervously and fumbled for the two forks and the box.

“Should make sure we save some for Roman.”  Dean watched Seth’s face intently, unsure how he would react. “Since he had a rough night, and all that,” he added, hoping he didn’t sound as tentative as he felt.

That small, slow smile crept back onto Seth’s lips, as he untied the string on the box, and Dean was already thinking that maybe he could get used to seeing it more often. “Deal.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> During the lead-up to Summerslam, I hated watching Seth's "apologies" and watching him string Dean along - it read as extremely manipulative and hurtful, and set off alarms for a number of abuse survivors I have talked to. When someone tells you a character reminds them of their abusive partner, it's hard not to listen - much less when THREE do. I went through several weeks of wondering if I could continue to write and identify with someone who could avoid making a real apology and still get applauded and cast as a "good" guy for his manipulative behavior. This was my attempt to make it right, and make the shift in their in-ring relationship more believable. After watching [clips from the WWE2k18 event,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h-6CIsQCq18) it was very clear that there was more going on between these two than what we saw in the promos. And [the apple pie incident](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NJbonDoVjxY) seemed like a perfect opportunity.
> 
> The title is from an Old 97s song, which sounds like a love song but is actually about the songwriter's roommate's cat who escaped (but came back). I tried to change it, but ["Murder (or a Heart Attack)"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dlKmYiLN-7Q) is a vicious earworm that just would not let go. And it just seemed to fit.


End file.
